January 2015

The red carpet is always an alien planet. The gravity field is different there, objects held in orbit by twenty-thousand dollar dresses, jewelry that comes with its own bodyguards, and clutch purses studded with adamantium – or no purse, if designer contracts couldn’t be arranged: it’s dangerous to your image to go with a purse you bought yourself unless you’re under 14. Your goal is to stand out, unless you risk being put on a worst-dressed list if you do, in which case you play it safe. (Or, sometimes, you wear a fashion-forward thing you know will get you on the Worst Dressed because you’re demonstrating edge. It’s the Victorian language of clothing writ small; you wear hothouse flowers in the city because they’re more expensive, and take the priciest silk flowers you can buy into the country with you.) Let’s not pretend I don’t care about stunning outfits worn by famous people (I’m in this as much as anybody), but the red carpet goes beyond a fashion event to become coded messages about the… Read more »